Last Train - Chapter 5 - Aftermath
No nononono.
I was in a stumbling race towards Akane.
My own pain and blurry vision were nothing. I was ready to murder the punk that had hurt Akane.
My heart felt like it was lodged in my throat, but Akane wasn't down. She didn't seem to register her injury. Instead, her face was scrunched in a valkyrie's fury. Her assailant thought he had the advantage, likely never imagining this girl to have such a recovery, or any recovery at all, from his blow.
He never got the opportunity to recognize his fate.
Before I could reach him, and at a speed nearing my Roasting Chestnuts' technique, Akane ducked and then came up hard in a jaw shattering uppercut.
The sharp crack of broken bone met my ears. From the sound alone, I could guess this was one of those times Akane did not pull her punch. Her assailant went airborne, before landing several feet away. Even my distorted vision could see he was unconscious before his body hit the pavement.
It meant I could safely ignore him, and instead focus on the frightening spread of dark red on Akane's torn yukata, seeping from the slash at her leg
The sharp edged rebar had been as effective as a sword blade.
Adrenaline had done its job, but now Akane was looking pale.
Blood wasn't just seeping into her clothing, but dripping onto the pavement. I couldn't see the full extent of Akane's injury, the crimson mess was sickening, but by the rough placement, it could have hit…no.
I felt the stirrings of a sensation I wasn't accustomed to: panic.
I was breathing hard, filled with fury, and not just at the punk who attacked me. I was mad at myself. I used to take on hordes of stupidly crazed jocks attacking me daily without so much as a scratch. But I had underestimated an opponent, thinking he had fled. As it was, I had dodged his initial aim but still had been hit. Stupid! Ugh, the worst part was knowing that Ranma would probably bicker with me over this, too. I had planned to chide him about being overconfident, given the state of his eyes, and now this happens. Pot, meet kettle. What a pair we make.
I took a moment to glance at the creep's crumpled body, several feet away. I probably overdid it with my final blow. The kind I reserve for Kuno only after a very, very bad day.
The pain in my leg was suddenly hitting me, and all at once the world became a jumble of chaos. The police whistles I had been vaguely aware of now were more than reality, as two different police officers were now on the scene barking orders for the crowd of rubberneckers to give way. Ranma was at my side, his eyes bloodshot, swollen, and only half open but intently staring at the dripping pool of blood growing at my feet. Wait. Blood? Was that mine?
Seeing it made me suddenly nauseous.
"Lie down!" Ranma barked at me through the higher pitch of his soprano female-voice.
"What?" I asked, feeling disoriented.
Before I could move, his slender arms had swept me up, and put me gently to sit on the ground in a smooth motion, moving my torn yukata folds apart to inspect my leg.
Instinct made me want to bat his hands away. Shouldn't we examine my upper leg somewhere more private than a bustling train station?
I was vaguely aware that a police officer was taking statements from witnesses in the crowd, while another cuffed the knocked out thieves, but it was all secondary to Ranma's presence; his sharp intake of breath at seeing my exposed left leg, the tremble of his mouth, and the visible pulse at his delicate neck.
Ranma's serious, deadly quiet expression worried me. I looked down. There was a deep gash that went from above my knee and crossed outward in a diagonal slash up the outside of my thigh. It was steadily flowing, but not pulsing out blood. I belatedly realized how lucky I was: my femoral artery wasn't hit. I at least know that level of basic first aid. At the same time, how deep was this cut?
Ranma's hands trembled near my leg, hovering in uncertainty before steadying. In a quick jerk his right hand reached and ripped the left sleeve right off his yukata, the seam giving way immediately.
I flinched and cried out involuntarily, the burning cut protesting as Ranma applied firm pressure with his makeshift bandaging material.
"Sorry," he mumbled, "but hold still. We gotta stop your bleeding."
The bangs of his cursed red hair hid his face from my viewing angle, so I was unable to see his expression.
I nodded. "It looks worse than it is," I responded, more out of hopeful reassurance than actual certainty.
Before Ranma could answer, a police officer's voice responded. "I've radioed dispatch. We will escort you young ladies to the nearest open emergency clinic for treatment before taking your statements. Rest assured your muggers have been apprehended. My partner is bringing our first aid kit now."
Ranma and I both looked up at the officer, surprise written on both our faces. Our little corner of Nerima doesn't get much interaction with formal police entities. We have our own brand of crazy duels, property damage, and the occasional lawsuit, with people dragging themselves to the hospital afterwards. The idea of giving formal, legal testimony about a fight was surreal. A police escort anywhere was way beyond our experience, and I've had my home's dojo blown up by bombs at our attempted wedding.
"Huh. I've never met a competent police force before." Ranma replied.
I facepalmed. Could Ranma be any ruder? I mean, yeah, I was surprised, too, but it didn't mean I was going to say my thoughts aloud!
"Ranma!" I whisper-scolded in embarrassment.
"What?" he asked, completely nonplussed.
The other officer approached with the first aid kit, and with professional ease tightly wrapped and bandaged my leg. To my dismay, I could see how quickly my injury was seeping through the gauze.
I tried to get to my feet, and couldn't hold back a small yelp at the attempt.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ranma's hands were on my shoulder, pinning me in place on the ground. His pretty, feminine face was pinched in exasperation. "I'll carry you."
"Ranma, you can't carry me right now." I gestured at the state of his cursed body. His men's yukata, now torn and without a sleeve, hung oddly on his smaller frame and dragged on the ground, emphasizing how much shorter and smaller he currently was. Although carrying me wasn't impossible, it wasn't practical for him to attempt for such a long stretch. His cursed form was shorter, lighter, and had far less upper body strength than myself. It made him incredibly fast and lithe in a fight, but even Ranma bemoaned his lack of strength in this body.
"If I may, miss?" the police officer asked, although it was less a genuine question and more a courtesy as he lifted me.
I caught Ranma bristle, squaring his shoulders in a very masculine manner before deflating like a punctured volleyball.
I felt a stab of sympathy for Ranma. This was another blow to his ego, along with extra irritation regarding his curse. He had more or less come to accept his magical condition, but acceptance wasn't the same as being happy with it.
I wanted a moment to reassure Ranma privately, but that couldn't happen right now. I just hoped our medical detour wouldn't take long.
Dried blood was caked on my hands. It was sickening. I was scrubbing as fast as I could in the clinic sink, not wanting to think about how badly injured Akane might be, or how much longer I'd have to wait before seeing her.
They had sent us to the only emergency clinic that was open for such a late hour. It was small, and almost familiar with a nearly identical architecture and layout to Tofu's in Nerima.
I hadn't wanted to be parted from Akane, but they had pretty forcibly, if politely, insisted we needed to be treated separately. They had rushed Akane into a separate room first, and I had been left pacing and staring in horror at Akane's blood smeared on my palms. I'm not squeamish about bodily fluids, but having this vivid, tangible reminder that Akane was hurt, that I had failed her, made me want to find a bucket and puke my guts out.
The scant few minutes of waiting felt like being dragged through broken glass. All I could do was scrub and scrub away at my hands, as if removing Akane's blood could help convince me she hadn't been injured. Or at least, it wasn't as insistent a reminder.
Finally, a nurse came and directed me to the emergency eye wash station, and well, I had to admit it was an immediate relief - of my physical pain, at least. I moaned from the cooling comfort. Damn, but I'm never underestimating the power of mace again. Also, I'm now incredibly grateful that Kodachi is an eccentric freak with knock-out poisons and paralyzing agents instead of into torture. Who'da thought I'd be appreciating her brand of crazy kink?
The nurse then directed me to look at some black medical wand in his hand that also shined a bright light. He hummed in approval. I didn't care.
"Thankfully whatever chemical agent that was used didn't cause any permanent damage. How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," I insisted. I hopped off the examination table. "I need to check on Akane."
The nurse gave me a small, placating smile and took his time cleaning the lenses on his glasses before answering me. "Our policy is to wait until a patient is done being treated before they receive visitors. Just wait here while they finish treating her. You wouldn't want to distract the doctor, would you?"
Fuck policy. I needed to see Akane for myself. I couldn't fully explain my uneasiness. It was a deep, primal urge to see Akane and the nurse's patronizing tone made me want to stuff my fist in his mouth. I do, however, have some brains. When it comes to men like this, I can sometimes turn my curse to my advantage.
I took a deep breath and gave him my cutest, most pleadingly large eyes. "Oh. I see," I replied breathily. "But how could I possibly rest without knowing how my dear cousin is doing? Couldn't you please let me see her?" I was now holding the nurse's hands while giving him my biggest performance. "She could be so scared by herself. I promise I won't get in the way."
Years of using my over-the-top girly act have won me free snacks and all sorts of privileges. I just had to hope it would work here, too.
The nurse's mouth softened. "You're a sweet girl to be so concerned. Let me ask if you can join her."
It took less than a minute for him to come back, the benefits of being in a tiny neighborhood clinic. "She's being treated in the adjacent room, but -"
I was out the door and entering Akane's room.
She was lying down on an examination table, the attending clinician stitching her wound shut, while another attending nurse assisted with gauze and supplies. From the doorway, I could only partially see the extent of Akane's injury, but even the partial view showed me a lot of sutures already in place. It felt rude and invasive to stare, and the sight made me a little sick to my stomach, a coil of guilt, anger, and utter wrongness. Akane was hurt. This had happened on my watch. I had been too slow to stop it. I hadn't protected her.
Akane's eyes met mine and she gave me a tight smile. "Ranma! Are your eyes okay?" I gave a small nod, but Akane must have noticed my worried expression. "They're patching me up. Like I told you, it's not that bad."
The doctor corrected Akane without even glancing up from her work. "You're actually very fortunate, a little deeper or to the side by a few centimeters, and you might have bled out if it had hit your femoral artery."
I swallowed a hard knot in my throat. My original tightly contained panic at the station was like a bad aftertaste in my mouth. I had been right in fearing the worst, even if the worse hadn't happened. The span of a pinky finger had been the difference between life and…no. No. Not going there.
I went beside Akane's head, as if putting distance between her injury and myself could help me pretend it wasn't there, that the close call had never happened.
Akane's expression became concerned at my silence. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked quietly. I still couldn't bring myself to find words. My tongue was dry and worthless in my mouth. "Your eyes look better, but do they still hurt?"
It was just like Akane to be more worried about me than herself, even in the midst of needles sewing her flesh back together. "I'm fine." I answered, my voice oddly hoarse. Stupid female body. Don't cry. That would be so lame. She is going to be okay. No need to cry in relief over it.
Akane winced suddenly, and the doctor noticed. "Almost done, we'll be finished before the analgesic fully wears off. Please remain still."
On impulse, my hand found hers. My hands were clean now, if still small and ridiculously delicate. Since I didn't train as much in my cursed form, I hardly had any calluses. Their smooth texture was a striking contrast between Akane's well calloused palms, honed by years of smashing bricks and beating up high school perverts. Sometimes it was hard to reconcile my Jusenkyo-cursed-form hands as even being mine, but at least Akane's felt the same as I ever remembered. "Give me a squeeze, if it hurts, got it?" I told her.
Akane nodded, and I felt a tiny squeeze as she winced again.
I had been so useless before, and my failure was eating at me. At least this I could do for now.
Author's Note:
Original Publication Date: October 22, 2023
